The Rings
by Kid9535
Summary: Gift fic for Nonasuki-chan's birthday. I don't really like what I've done. T.T I might need to do a new one. A shotr fiction on how the Rings that appear around Danny came about. Mild swearing.


A/N:  Argh! I know I promised a Pitch Pearl, but I wanted to get something out. I did try to do Pitch Pearl but I found it hard to do romance. Damn, I need to work on that.

Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom or I'd be fired and people wouldn't put up petition sites.

The Rings

It was dark, almost suffocatingly dark. At times, a dim memory of an over-weight teacher dumping a gigantic mound of homework next to him would appear. It became rather troublesome when the homework was deposited onto him. When that happened, he'd sometimes find himself staring not into the dark, but rather into a sheet of jumbled numbers.

'Stupid, boggling homework, stupid over-possessive memories, stupid small space,' the mutterings emitted from his mouth, thin pale ghostly lips hissed the words out in anger. He brushed off a mound of undecipherable literature homework, shook free from the science assignments and gathered up his things.

He paused for a moment with the battered cardboard box pressed tightly against his chest. Nestled snug in between tools were _the plans_.

He had to continuously move, the overbearing memories of his host were getting out of control. Summoning up a little mental strength, he created a small workshop. This time, he remembered the lock and key.

And the door, mustn't forget the door.

He shut the windows lest an unwanted bleak memory of a Fenton experiment gone wrong bounded into the room and destroyed what he had done so far.

He picked up a rather dull hammer which illuminated straight after he had finished his improvements on the dull instrument.

He raised it up above his head, there which a memory of Greek Mythology came crashing through the window in the form of a lightning of Zeus; he ignored it and brought the tool crashing down. The sound of two indigenous materials clashing rang throughout the workshop causing two screwdrivers and a chainsaw to rattle violently on the giant oak table.

A memory of a salesman knocking on the door brings him out of his reverie. He cursed shortly; couldn't a guy create coolness in peace? Yeesh.

He meditated for a bit before moving the office to a higher level. He could see why his host could forget so many things; the memory space was excruciatingly small.

He cut out along the sides of the glowing material. It was eerie and entrancingly beautiful at the same time.

After a while, he stopped and took a break. He summoned a soda for the sake of refreshments and reclined in a nearby sofa. He stared at the glowing object on his worktable, it floated, it illuminated, it sang a song, almost mournfully.

He slammed the can down, crushing the aluminum substitute. He felt like throwing his creations out of the window. No, they were imperfect, they were not sufficient. How could he present them?

No, the time was looming; he had to complete the final blow to the second ring. It was time for _his_ discovery.

He grabbed the rings and concentrated. Power surged through his arms and flowed rapidly into the circular objects. A small stream of cold air pushed its way from his mouth. He frowned a little before placing the rings into the subconscious mind. There was a drop-off box where he found random thoughts, he threw them out of the box and made room for the glowing blue rings. He'd have to remember to replace the shabby box with a shelf, that way; it would hold the rings properly.

The rings began to shimmer as they disappeared and reappeared in the conscious mind.

As the stream of questions flowed into the conscious mind, he watched as his host pondered over the rings of light through the glass wall separately the conscious from the subconscious. The present was successfully delivered.

Phantom smiled as memories of the sound of the rings washed over him in a melancholy way; Happy Birthday to me.

The End

A/N: Happy Birthday to Nonasuki-chan.


End file.
